


Things Only L Would Know

by PrecariousSauce



Category: Death Note & Related Fandoms, Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Family, Fluff, Gen, light fudging of canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-23 05:54:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11983557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrecariousSauce/pseuds/PrecariousSauce
Summary: The first times L met the three boys in line to succeed him.





	1. Mello

The first time L met Mello coincided with another important event for his successor– His first ever escape attempt from Wammy’s House.

L had been pacing around the hallways of the orphanage as he often did right after arriving back, telling himself that he’s doing so in order to readjust his internal clock from the journey there but in truth doing it to sate his own nostalgia, and had stumbled upon Mello about to jump from the window sill to a nearby tree. Mello was eight at the time, still suffering from the bowl-cut most eight year old boys were subjected to, had a 1930s hobo-style rucksack tied to a stick over his shoulder which L remembered finding quite charming, and was looking at L with wide eyes brimming with bitter tears– something L remembered finding much less charming.

L was eighteen at the time but had already settled into his own lack of social graces, as the first thing he said to Mello was, “You seem upset.”

“Leave me alone,” the boy had muttered back, blue eyes slitting into a glare that burned too hot for a child his age.

L’s first hypothesis formed like the cracking of a whip– this child had been through significant trauma before coming here. Not rare in most orphanages, but rarer in this one. Children often ended up in Wammy’s House because their parents just couldn’t _deal_ with them, they couldn’t handle these strange children who talked too much or not enough or asked questions they couldn’t answer, who wouldn’t look at people and instead drew strange geometric patterns or quickly solved thousand-piece blank puzzles or scratched incessantly at their skin. The worst they usually saw was signs of abuse from these unfit parents– traumatizing and horrible, absolutely, but sadly very common.

But the searing _rage_ in those eyes was anything but.

“I don’t think I’m going to do that,” L replied, bringing his thumb up to nibble at the nail, “We’re on the second story– if you jump to that branch and miss the fall would, at best, break any number of your bones. And that’s assuming if you _didn’t_ miss the branch it would be strong enough to hold your weight, which looks about…” L paused, letting out a low hum as he craned his neck to get a better look at the branch, “Nope, that looks completely impossible.”

Mello had turned to face him as he snapped, “Why do _you_ care?!”

“I don’t,” L had lied, “But as I said there’s pretty much no way your current plan will end with anything but you getting hurt and me as the witness and the older person here becoming the one responsible for that, therefore getting in trouble on your behalf since they’ll be too busy carting you off to a hospital. Tell you what,” L held out a hand, “You and I walk downstairs and I let you out the front door like a civilized runaway. How does that sound?”

Mello’s brows furrowed and L could already tell he’d end up with a dark line between them before long; “You’d really just do that?”

L shrugged; “Children run away from here all the time. You disappearing would be business as usual.”

That was a half-truth. The strength of response to a runaway child from Wammy’s House depended entirely on how highly Roger and Watari valued them. L was just starting to come to terms with how much he didn’t like that. He and Watari didn’t argue about much but how L’s line of succession was handled was definitely one of their worst sticking points; Their most recent argument about it had resulted in L not speaking directly to Watari for an entire year.

Mello pursed his lips into a tight frown and kept his eyes locked on L as he slowly and deliberately dropped down from the window sill back into the hallway. He shut the window with a hard _slam_ and walked stiff-leggedly over to L. L kept holding his hand out– Mello smacked it away hard enough for it to sting.

As he rubbed his wrist and started off towards the stairs L had hoped that temper of his would even out as he got older, because if not he would make a terrifying bully.

The two of them walked in silence, Mello trailing a couple steps behind L. He’d expected as much– the boy was looking for a chance to bolt, and failing that making sure he could keep an eye on L without him being able to do the same right back. He was clever. L wasn’t sure if he liked children, but he definitely liked clever.

They made it down to the first floor’s main hall before L stopped in his tracks and looked loosely over his shoulder at Mello; “Got any food in that bag?”

Mello blinked rapidly at the sudden question; “Uh… not a lot?”

L nodded; “What kind?”

“Uh, I just kind of grabbed handfuls of stuff from the pantry,” he muttered, eyes dropping down to his feet, “I was in a hurry.” 

“Alright, then we’re taking a detour,” L announced, spinning on his heel and trotting over to the kitchen. Mello in his shock had no other choice than to run after him, though he froze when L opened the door and turned the light on.

“Are you crazy?! We’ll get in trouble!” Mello hissed, grabbing a fistful of L’s white shirt in an attempt to drag him back out into the hallway.

“No we won’t,” L replied, strolling casually past the threshold and over to the fridge, “If you’re with me you’ll be fine. And I _never_ get in trouble.”

L got a glance of Mello’s face from the corner of his eye and his brows were furrowed again in deep concentration. L knew he’d have to answer for that eventually. But from how Mello’s eyes were darting between the hallway and the kitchen he had a feeling that ‘eventually’ wouldn’t be ‘now’. 

Mello carefully crept into the kitchen and set his rucksack on the table; “Why’re we in here?”

“I’m starving, that’s why,” L replied as he rifled through the fridge and the freezer for all the materials a Banana Split requires, “And from the looks of things I’d bet _you_ haven’t eaten in a while either. Want some ice cream?”

Mello made a face; “Eugh, _no_. That stuff’s too sweet.”

L brought his head out of the fridge to blink owlishly at him. This would be the first time he’d encounter a child who didn’t like sweet things– interesting, certainly, but not to his advantage since his main way of getting these children to stop being intimidated and just _talk_ to him was to bribe them with sweets. But hey, it also meant more banana split for him, so no huge loss.

“Well I only know where the sweet things are in this kitchen so you might be out of luck if you want me to get a snack for you,” L remarked, rolling up his sleeves as he set about scooping ice cream into a dish. 

Mello frowned, gently drumming on the tabletop with his hands as he thought, before he asked, “Do you guys have dark chocolate bars? I like those.”

L could feel the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. An eight year old who liked dark chocolate– yet another thing about Mello he would remember finding incredibly charming.

“I think we just might,” L answered. After rifling through the pantry he was able to find likely their last bar of the stuff, though its cacao content was seventy percent. He made a face privately to himself while his back was still turned, but tossed it to Mello over his shoulder regardless.

“That might be a bit too bitter for you, but knock yourself out anyway,” L said before getting right back to putting his banana split together. He watched Mello with a growing curiosity as the boy tore off the paper wrapper and only a corner of the foil underneath before biting directly into the bar, cracking off a piece with his teeth and sending flecks of chocolate flying all over the kitchen table. L would have to clean that up. But that was a worthy tradeoff for the way Mello's eyes went wide and started to sparkle at the taste.

“It’s so good!” Mello blurted out around his half-chewed bite.

L sat down across from Mello, one leg folded close to his chest, and took a bite of his own dessert; “Is this your first time having chocolate that dark?”

Mello nodded so fast L was afraid he’d give himself whiplash; “I didn’t know it could taste like this!”

L just nodded and let Mello gobble down more of the chocolate, almost forgetting all about his banana split as he watched the boy shove the chocolate bar in his mouth like it was his first meal in years. He didn’t look malnourished so that hypothesis was out. No, more than likely this was the first food Mello had _enjoyed_ in a long time.

Time to gather more evidence; “So what’s your name?”

Mello’s eyes briefly flickered up to him as he answered, “Mihael,” before going right back to his chocolate.

Mihael. That didn’t follow the logic of any codenames given out thus far to any of the successors. And it came immediately, without even a moment’s pause to think about it. It was his real name. That lead to another hypothesis– Mello was new here. _Very_ new. The longest L could imagine he’d been at Wammy’s House was a month. And he was _already_ trying to get out. That spoke either to the aforementioned deep trauma or simply a rebellious, contrarian personality. L would find out in the years to come that it was both.

But for the moment, he just asked, “So, what are you in for?”

 _Now_ Mello hesitated. He stopped mid-bite, eyes going wide and picking a spot on the table to stare intently at. He slowly started chewing again, taking his time with each chew and carefully ignoring L’s eyes on him. L just took another bite of his banana split. He was the world’s greatest detective for a reason. The answers would come.

Eventually Mello swallowed and grumbled, “Why’s anyone go to an orphanage? ‘Cause I’m an orphan.” 

L opened his mouth to counter that claim, but Mello cut him off; “And I guess I’m smart or something. They had me take these really long tests the day after I got here and asked me tons of questions and the old guy told me later that I’m allowed to stay.”

One of his hands balled up into a fist; “I don’t wanna stay. Everyone here’s some kind of weirdo or egghead who looks at me funny ‘cause I’m _not_ weird. They think I cheated to get in here, that I don’t count ‘cause I can look at people and don’t stack things and some jerk named L was looking for my–“

L’s blood ran cold and Mello stopped talking. Mello had said too much to a stranger, but L _needed_ to know more. The boy was curling in on himself, drawing the chocolate bar close to his chest and his eyes disappearing behind his bangs.

To get this, L would have to give something.

“You know, I used to live here too,” L began, leaning back in his chair, “It was a little bit different back when I came, but it was still a home for exceptional children, and the ones already here also thought I cheated to get in.”

Mello looked up through his bangs; “Really?”

L nodded; “My mother had died under mysterious circumstances– she was just one of many in a string of unsolvable murders. But the one thing that was different about her was me. I was the first material witness they’d ever had. And while they were questioning me I was able to deduce something about the murderer that no one else had even considered. I was placed in Wammy’s House for my protection as well as to test my intellect– the other children called me a cheater for having that opportunity to prove myself dropped in my lap.”

It had been long enough that L was able to laugh, just slightly; “I think I also tried to escape in my first week. I got as far as the front gate before turning around and going back to my room.”

Mello was looking him right in the eye now, his own back to being moist with unshed tears, but his gaze was hard– he was trying to see if L was lying. L had two hypotheses: either Mello was simply untrusting, or L’s own past was resonating far too much with his. Either way, he was learning something valuable.

Mello spoke up, voice soft; “Why didn’t you run away?”

L just shrugged; “I was five years old. It was cold and dark and I was scared. And I knew that I just wanted to be with my mother, but she wasn’t out there. She wasn’t anywhere.”

Mello had curled in on himself again, and for a split second L thought he’d screwed up, that Mello hadn’t believed him, or that it hadn’t been what he wanted to hear even though it was true. But then Mello’s shoulders started shaking and teardrops hit the table.

L reached a hand out and let it sit on the table; “Do you want to tell me what happened to your family?”

Mello took his hand in a grip tight enough to cut off circulation and did.

Mello hadn’t known all the details, but L was able to put the pieces together from what Mello _did_ know. He and his family had been caught in the crossfire of L’s last case– a drama in the Russian mob over an embezzled twenty million dollars. It had been L’s job to track it down and strategize a way for the police to retrieve it and arrest everyone involved. He’d almost done it before one of the mob’s contacts in England ended up with the money. That contact had been Mello’s father, Armand Keehl. Armand had been smart enough to move it again, but that wasn’t enough to keep him and and his wife Lena from being gunned down in their own home.

He remembered a line from the police report that he’d glossed over while trying to find where the money had ended up– _Lena Keehl had shielded their young son with her own body and he survived the attack._

Mello had been less than a footnote in that case. L could tell him right now that his parents’ killers had been caught and thrown in jail, but he suspected that wouldn’t make him stop crying.

“I’m mad at everyone,” Mello hiccuped between sobs, “I hate the guys who killed them, I hate dad for bringing them there, I hate the cops for sending me here, I hate that old guy for testing me and making me stay here and…” he choked on his words, “I hate mom for leaving me alone.”

L was quiet for a moment.

Then he said, “I understand how you feel. But the way you told it, it sounds like your mother wanted you to live so badly that she gave up her own life, and that’s the greatest sacrifice anyone can make. Your mother loved you as much as someone can possibly love another person… I don’t remember much about my own mother. But I can only hope she loved me half as much as your mother loved you.”

Mello didn’t say anything at first. But he somehow squeezed L’s fingers even tighter. Another hypothesis– this is the first time Mello had been able to talk about what happened openly and honestly. He’d need to have a tense conversation with Watari and Roger, and he'd have to have it soon. 

“I know,” Mello murmured, voice still thick, “I just want her to still be here. I miss her so much.”

L couldn’t say anything, so he just squeezed Mello’s hand back.

After a moment, Mello scrubbed at his eyes; “Lemme guess, you’re gonna say something like ‘if you ran away right now you’d die and that wouldn’t be what your mom would want’, right?”

L smiled as much as he was capable of smiling; “Well, I was hoping to make it less cheesy, but you got me. So, did you know the whole time I was trying to get you not to run away, or did you figure it out as we went along?”

Mello smiled around a wobbly laugh; “I knew the whole time. I just wanted to see how you’d do it since you were being so weird about it.”

L could’ve sworn he was grinning now; “Did my dastardly plan work?”

Mello’s laugh was stronger and fuller now; “Yeah, at least for now. I’ll stay until I get a chance to meet this super genius L guy everyone’s so crazy about.”

L couldn’t help a theatrical cringe; “If I were you I’d run away before then– that L guy’s not all that. He’s a _huge_ jerk. Doesn’t care what anyone thinks, always tries to get his way, real insensitive, kinda ugly too, just an all around bad guy.”

“When’d you meet him?” Mello asked around a yawn as he dropped his chocolate on the table, completely forgotten.

“I never said I met him,” L remarked around a very large bite of his banana split. The dessert was almost entirely melted by now, but that was fine. It had always just been a means to an end.

Mello narrowed his eyes, half in suspicion, half because he was having issues keeping his eyes open this late at night; “Who _are_ you?”

If it were up to him, L would’ve told him right then and there exactly who he was. But Watari insisted it be kept secret– _It won’t do for a whole colony of orphans to know exactly who L is, that’s far too big a risk_ , were his exact words. L didn’t see the point– it was an open secret. The children were more than smart enough to deduce that the odd gangly teenager who showed up every four or five months for a week or two, barely talked to anyone besides Roger or Wammy, was older than ninety percent of the oldest children still living at the orphanage, and slept in The One Room They Could Not Go Into, was the person whose example they were all supposed to follow.

L rebelled in his own little ways– if the children asked him straight out, he would tell them the truth. But sadly all Mello had asked was who he was. So he got a half truth.

“Like I said, I used to live here when I was younger,” L replied, “I’m just visiting for the week– I’ve got business in the area and I wanted to see how the place has changed. It never really does, but I still like to check. Just in case.”

The best lies, in L’s opinion, were just obscure truths stated vaguely.

The crease between Mello’s eyebrows told L that he didn’t believe him. Or at least knew he wasn’t getting the whole story. But the way Mello’s eyelids were drifting down then fluttering back up told L that he’d drop it for now.

“Whatever,” Mello yawned, folding his arms like a pillow on the table and resting his cheek on them, “I guess I don’t care. L’s probably not that cool anyway.”

“Yep,” L replied, “Just a boring guy all around.”

And then it was just L, alone in the kitchen with a sleeping child. Carefully and quietly L cleaned up the table, put the chocolate in a plastic bag (which he labeled _MIHAEL’S CHOCOLATE, PLEASE DO NOT EAT_ ) and back in the pantry, then cleaned up all his own dishes. He was halfway through that task when Roger came shuffing around the kitchen doorway, bleary eyes looking from L to Mello and back again. Likely the light and commotion in the kitchen had woken up one of the other children and they'd gone to get Roger because  _they_ weren't going to be the ones to interrupt  _L._

“That’s Mihael Keehl, the survivor of the Reznya Case,” L remarked, voice flat and cold like the blade of a sword, “He was trying to run away. I’d recommend not letting him do so again– He’s incredibly intelligent and has an emotional awareness that the other children don’t have. Also, he’s suffering from intense Post Traumatic Stress. I _highly_ recommend bolstering your counseling resources.”

_The one thing L never knew about this night that Roger would remember forever was how terrifying the look in L’s eyes had been when he’d glanced at him. Wammy’s ‘hobby’ of cultivating gifted children like they were show dogs would never be right. But the look on L’s face made sure Roger would do whatever possible to make it as right as he could._

With that L had hoisted Mello onto his back and brushed past Roger without another word. He’d dropped Mello in the only room with an open door and next to nothing on the walls before going back to his own and sleeping among the past four months’-worth of dust.

The next morning Mello had found L when he was eating breakfast and dragged him out to help him scientifically determine if he could’ve escaped the way he’d wanted to last night. This meant L’s job was to stand outside under the window and catch Mello if he fell. 

He did, as many times as Mello would let him.


	2. Near

L was convinced Mello and Near were determined to be each other’s opposites in every conceivable way. L had met Mello while the boy was trying to break _out_ of somewhere, and he had met Near right after the boy had broken _in_ somewhere. 

Specifically, L’s own room.

L’s old room at Wammy’s House was one of the only places that was completely off limits to the orphans– yet another decision L didn’t make. He would’ve been fine with a guest room whenever he and Watari came back for a visit but Watari insisted L’s room be kept exactly as-is and be locked at all times, with the only two keys in L and Watari’s own possession. L was starting to wonder exactly who worked for whom.

The door’s lock was designed by Watari himself, which guaranteed it was all but immune to being picked. But this wasn’t a foolproof plan– there was a single window that someone could use to break in. However it _was_ on the second floor and there wasn’t a tree nearby, so Watari had ruled it near to impossible for the children to attempt. L had slightly more faith in them.

L’s faith was rewarded when he came up to his room and heard a knock on his door from the _inside_. 

L hadn’t quite been sure what to do. If this hadn’t caught him so off-guard, he probably would’ve unlocked the door and gone in immediately to confront this burglar. But instead in his shock the first thing that occurred to L was to knock back.

A small voice, muffled by the door, spoke up; “Hello. Could you please get someone who can open this door? It’s locked.”

L blinked in surprise; “How did you get in?”

“Through the window,” the small voice replied evenly. L allowed himself a private smile.

“Alright then, hold on a moment,” L said as he fished the key out of the front pocket of his jeans. He unlocked and opened the door in one smooth motion, nearly hitting the young boy sitting on his floor in the face as he shuffled on his hands and heels away from the door.

At six years old Near had been one of the youngest children in Wammy’s House, but if L was being honest in the seven years he’d known him the boy hadn’t changed much. Near’s big dark eyes still stared up at him with minimal blinking, his mouth still sat in that small clean line, his curly white hair still covered his eyebrows, and he wore the same exact sort of white pajamas up until the very last time they saw each other.

Many people in the years to come would assume Near’s stoicism was an act. L found out immediately that’s just how he was by the two dark tear tracks running down his impassive, blank face.

L immediately crouched down to his eye level; “How long have you been in here?” 

Near’s reply was instant; “Two hours, five minutes, twenty seconds. Twenty one seconds.”

L didn’t even have time to think of a reply before Near asked, “You have the key and you’re too young to be Mister Wammy. Are you L?”

Well, he’d asked directly, so he got a direct answer; “Yes, I am.”

Near held out one of his little hands; “Hello L. I’m Nate River but Mister Ruvie said I should tell people my name is Near.”

L took his hand and gave it as firm a handshake as he was comfortable giving something so small and delicate; “If that’s the case, why’d you tell me your real name?”

“You’re the world’s greatest detective, you’d find out anyway,” Near replied. 

Meeting Near for the first time coincided with an important event for L himself– the first time one of his successors would make him laugh.

“Alright,” L said around a warm chuckle, “Let’s get you back downstairs.”

L stood up and Near moved to stand with him, but wobbled the entire way and collapsed back down onto his knees before he could even fully extend his legs. Hypotheses rocketed around L’s brain faster than he could catch them– muscular atrophy? Inner ear issue? In a state of shock from being stuck alone for two hours? He didn’t have anywhere near enough evidence to claim any one of them.

“Sorry,” Near said, voice still neutral, “I’m new at walking.”

Now what on Earth did _that_ mean?

L could get to that question later if he asked a different one now; “Want me to carry you?” 

“Yes please,” Near replied, already reaching his arms up towards L so he could grab Near’s sides and hoist him up onto his shoulders. It went far too easily. L was decently strong, but Near weighed next to nothing and L could feel his ribs through his shirt; ‘muscular atrophy’ was gaining ground.

“So,” L began as he turned on his heel and started off towards the stairs, “I didn’t see a ladder leaning up against that window. How’d you get through it?”

“I went onto the roof,” Near explained as he scrubbed away the tear tracks, “I was able to take some of the toys apart and make them into a hook I used to pull the window open from above. I think it fell onto the lawn. I hung off the gutter with my hands and swung into your room.”

Alright, perhaps ‘muscular atrophy’ was out; “How’d you manage all that while being ‘new at walking’?”

“I asked one of the older kids to bring me up to the roof,” Near answered, “The rest I didn’t need my legs to do.”

L had half a mind to ask who that kid was so he could let Roger know how irresponsible they were. But L also knew _very_ well that even gifted children abided by the golden rule of Snitches Get Stitches and he wouldn’t want to make a snitch of Near.

“I imagine you’re pretty hungry after all that excitement,” L remarked, veering off towards the kitchen, “Want something sweet?”

“No thank you,” Near said, absently twirling a lock of L’s hair, “I don’t like sweet things. Could you please take me to the sunroom instead? I was working on a puzzle there.”

Yet another child who didn’t like sweets. L was starting to think he’d need to change his tactics for getting to know his heirs.

Nevertheless he changed his course and brought Near into the sunroom; there had been a few other orphans in the room, playing with toys or each other, but the minute their eyes made the journey up to Near they scattered. Over in the corner of the room was a blank white puzzle, about twenty-percent completed, and about five other puzzles still in their boxes in a neat stack off to the side. 

L set Near down near the corner of the puzzle he’d completed, but Near grabbed hold of his pant leg before L could straighten up; “Do you want to play a game with me?”

L arched an eyebrow; “Depends on what kind of game.”

Near took one of the puzzle boxes from the stack and handed it to L– it was also blank; “We race. Whoever finishes their puzzle first wins.”

L didn’t even pretend to think about it as he settled down on the floor across from Near; “What do we win?”

Near just stared at him, big dark eyes looking far too familiar; “You win.”

L was nothing if not aware of his own defects, and he knew he hated to lose. Apparently this extended to losing to a child as L was already dumping out the pieces of the puzzle on the floor.

As he began work on his puzzle, L got to work on the enigma he was racing; “Can I ask you some more questions, Near?”

“Yes, but only if I can ask some too,” Near replied, “Can I go first?”

So _that_ was the _real_ game. In the interest of competition, L replied, “Sure, go ahead.”

Near’s first question came quickly; “How did you become the world’s greatest detective?”

L shrugged; “Because the last World’s Greatest Detective died.” Not a lie. And all Near would get with a question that broad. The brief downward twitch of the boy’s mouth told L he’d deduced as much.

“My turn,” L countered as he started building the bottom edge of the puzzle, “What happened to your parents?”

Near blinked exactly once; “The police arrested Nick for drug possession. When they found me and mom they separated us, and then they sent me here. I don’t know what happened to her.”

The gears in L’s mind were working at double time– Near had managed to tell him quite a bit while _giving_ him only enough to make him chomp at the bit for more. At this point he found it pertinent to remind himself this was a _six year old child_ , and he was reading him like a book. Or rather, like L would read a suspect.

“What was the last Greatest Detective like?” Near asked, snapping L back to the game at hand as he filled out the bottom right corner of his puzzle.

“I only met him once, but I got the impression that he was a very cautious person, and someone who hated breaking the rules for any reason. Now–“ L paused to consider his next question. _Where did they find you and your mother?_ No, that would just get him the exact location, which was next to useless. _How did they find you?_ Now that would be _completely_ useless. 

Finally he settled on, “Why do you call your father Nick?”

“He was only my father biologically,” Near replied, “He didn’t even marry my mom, he just kidnapped her.”

L’s first thought was that he wasn’t sure if it was impressive or disturbing that this six year old boy knew what biological parentage was, let alone its significance. His second was that Near had given him _almost_ enough– that meant Near was getting impatient. He wanted to know something specific and he wanted to know it _now_ , so he let L have just enough to almost get there himself. Near’s next question would go for the throat.

L hadn’t been wrong, because Near then asked, “How did the last Greatest Detective die?” 

Most of Watari’s directives L only followed out of a grudging respect for the man who raised him. But the one exception had been when Watari, with an odd and volatile mix of solemnity and desperation in his voice, asked L never to tell anyone exactly how his predecessor had died. _Especially_ not the orphans, because then they’d learn the only real way to shed this role.

L would tell Near the whole truth eventually.

But today he just said, “He died happy, because moments before he died he solved the greatest case of his career.”

Near’s mouth twitched again; It hadn’t been what he wanted.

“One last question, and this one might require some guesswork on your part,” L remarked, filling in the last corner left as he moved in towards the center of the puzzle, “Why would your mother give you up?”

It took Near a full minute to answer; “We’d been together since I was born, and she didn’t want me. I was smarter than her, too. She was sick of me.”

That was the last piece L needed.

A picture formed in his mind– a young boy born into a room he couldn’t leave with his kidnapped mother. He never needed to walk because the room was too small and his mother would carry him everywhere. He probably wasn’t fed very much either by his “father”, either. On top of that Near was uncommonly intelligent and quiet, so beyond being unwanted from his conception Near’s mother couldn’t relate to her child. Some coincidence spiraled out into the police arresting the father on drug charges and when searching his home for more stumbled on Near and his mother. While tending to them both, Near’s mother had told them to send the boy somewhere he’d receive the sort of care he deserved, because she knew she couldn’t provide it.

Perhaps he was being a bit charitable with that last assumption. But he was always a bit more charitable than he should be where the orphans were concerned.

Suddenly, Near looked right up at L. And then his face did the one thing L wasn’t expecting it to. It changed. Near’s mouth slowly stretched into a small smile, one that might’ve looked cute if Near weren’t looking at him with giant, dead-black eyes and hidden eyebrows.

He said just one thing; “I win.” 

L’s eyes shot down to the puzzle; it was finished, while L’s own still had a dozen or so pieces missing. That wasn’t possible, L had been sure to match his pace with Near’s, he’d solved dozens of puzzles like this himself when he was Near’s age, the boy absolutely should’ve been distracted by the questions about his past–

In that moment, L remembered a detail he’d overlooked in his haste to start unraveling the mystery that was Near.

The puzzle had been twenty-percent completed before they got here. Near had a head start, and he knew it.

Near had _cheated_.

_Near remembered something about this moment that L never would. He remembered the way L stared at him, eyes uncomfortably wide and jaw clenched crushingly tight. Near had seen quite a few emotions cross L’s face over the course of those couple seconds– disbelief, anger, suspicion, and for longer than any of the others, fear. But not fear for himself. Near almost thought he’d done something wrong until the lean muscles in L’s neck suddenly relaxed, and a new emotion showed itself in the smirk on L’s lips._

_Pride._

L had wanted to say a lot of things to Near right then, more things than he would ever remember.

But in the end, all he said was, “That’s right, you won. For now.”


	3. Matt

L hadn’t started eating sweets because he'd wanted to. Sure, he’d liked them as much as anyone else, but he hadn’t started eating them as often or in as great quantities as he would end up doing later in life just on a whim. 

The sweets had started as another act of rebellion– Watari’s preference was that L only speak to the orphans through his customary computer interface at designated times, but L knew that was no way to learn who these children actually were. The problem was due to the open secret of his identity the children were often too intimidated by the myth of their predecessor to come near him, and if he spoke to them directly they would mumble a couple too-polite words before scurrying away. And that’s where the sweets came in.

Up until this fateful week of L’s eighteenth year alive, he’d found that no child could resist sweets. They would take them if freely offered, and seeing the Great and Powerful L had an incorrigible sweet tooth made him look less like a monolith and more like a human. While sharing sweets with him they would eventually loosen up, answer questions, ask their own, and L could figure out who they were. Even with children like Near and Mello he had to find a special opening through which he could start learning about them, find the breach in their defenses he could slip through.

This was important context for the utter bewilderment L felt when Matt walked into L’s room without knocking, set a Nintendo 64 on the floor, and asked, “Hey L. Wanna play Mario Kart?”

L didn’t answer for a good minute since he was trying desperately to figure out exactly what was going on. Had he met this child before? He took quick stock of Matt– seven years old, dark messy hair, round cokebottle glasses, striped shirt, bored expression. Nope, not familiar in the slightest. Then why had he just walked in here, comfortable as anything and perfectly certain in the fact that he was talking to _L?_

The easiest way to get answers was to ask questions; “What makes you so sure I’m L?”

“You’re in his room,” Matt replied as he set about hooking up the N64 to L’s small television he rarely ever used, “Also Mihael told me L was here and he was a tall skinny guy with crazy hair who slouched a lot. No one else around here looks like that.”

L had suspected Mello figured out the truth, but now it was a certainty, and he couldn’t help the warmth welling up in his chest. L ambled over and sat down in front of the N64– by the time L would’ve been interested in video games he was already starting down the path towards World’s Greatest Detective, so he’d never really played them before. This odd, three-pronged controller didn’t make the concept seem any less esoteric.

Matt sat down beside L and pressed the button on the console to turn it on; “I’m Mail Jeevas. My real name’s dumb and the fake name Roger gave me’s dumb too so I just go by Matt.”

Once again L had to pause just to take in what a novelty Matt was. For a brief moment he had to wonder if there’d been some sort of mistake in the testing process that determined children fit to stay in Wammy’s House, but he dismissed it just as quickly. He’d helped design that test– anyone who passed was more than clever enough to be here.

“Alright, pleased to meet you, Matt,” L replied, “So, how do you play this game?”

Matt leaned over to point at the controller’s features; “Its a racing game. Blue button’s the gas, green button’s the brake, and you turn with the joystick.”

Simple enough to remember; that had to be why it was so popular with children. L didn’t know what difference the characters made so he just picked the one woman– she was very pretty for having such a basic model. Matt selected everything else so quickly that only the lag of the menus popping in and popping out let L see what he was picking. He was finally able to form one concrete hypothesis– Matt played this game a _lot_.

L’s competitive streak and thirst for new knowledge made him concentrate a bit too intently on the game to start, so much so that when Matt asked him a question L almost jumped; “So why’d you pick L as a codename?”

This was a common question and L had an easy lie for an answer; “L’s a good letter, don’t you think? Do you think the police would cooperate with someone named I or J?”

Matt responded by blowing a raspberry at him; “That’s the lamest lie I’ve ever heard. What’s the real reason?”

L smiled to himself; “What do _you_ think the real reason is?”

It didn’t even take Matt a second to answer, “I think it’s your real name. I think your real name is L and because it’s so stupid nobody would guess it’s real and nobody would think you’re dumb enough to use your real name all the time.”

L almost dropped the controller.

He had absolutely no choice but to lie; “That’s actually a pretty good idea. But I don’t think I can change my whole brand now– ‘John Smith’ t-shirts wouldn’t sell anywhere _near_ as well as L t-shirts.” 

Matt let out a snorting laugh; “No way, do you actually have t-shirts?”

L just grinned; “Now _that’s_ something I’ll _never_ tell.” 

“What if I said I wanted to buy them?”

“Oh, then you’ll have to go onto eBay–“ This sent Matt into another fit of snorting giggles. 

Another important milestone for L: the first time he’d made a joke someone actually laughed at.

L came in second in that particular race and Matt had come in third, and as the game moved them onto a new track he remarked, “You know, you’re nothing like the other children here–“

“Not true,” Matt cut in, “Mihael’s the only other kid here who’s not weird.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say the both of you aren’t _weird_ –“ Matt cut L off again, this time by leaning over and elbowing him in the side. Another hypothesis: Matt had at least one sibling.

“But yeah, you want to know how I ended up in Wammy’s House, right?” Matt asked as he knocked L out of the way with a turtle shell and rolled into the first place position.

“That’s the long and short of it,” L replied.

Matt shrugged with his whole body; “It’s kinda boring. Me and my big brother were in foster care and school was too easy for me no matter how many grades they tried to bump me up so my case worker gave me a bunch of tests. I guess I passed them all since they sent me here.”

“And your brother?”

“He’s still out there in foster care,” Matt mumbled, “He’s allowed to send letters but they come like two months after he sends them ‘cause the mail’s gotta be redirected like around the world or something to make sure it can’t be traced. It’s stupid– if my brother’s got an address he can write on the envelope then it doesn’t matter how the letter gets here you can can use that to find Wammy’s House.”

“How old is your brother?”

Matt finally smiled again; “He’s fifteen. Maybe when he turns eighteen he can adopt me and get me out of here.”

L didn’t say anything, because the one thing there was _to_ say was that it wasn’t going to happen.

Matt was a unicorn in Wammy’s House– a child smart enough to keep up with the others, but at least at the moment he showed no signs of being abnormal. He could do investigative work from every angle _and_ undercover work on the ground. He didn’t have to hide behind a computer screen. He could have a _face_. Matt’s brother would have to pry him out of Wammy’s cold, dead hands.

Matt was in first place on the final lap, but he stopped dead at the finish line and let L and one of the computers go ahead before went across himself. L’s brows furrowed and he watched Matt closely in the next two races. He performed exceptionally, rocketing ahead of the computers, using all his items at exactly the right times, leaving L in the dust and staying in first place for the first two laps. But on the third lap he would start sabotaging himself or in the worst case scenario just stop at the finish line. Matt finished in third every single time.

“Any particular reason you’re letting me win?” L wondered, looking down at Matt from the corner of his eye.

Another full-bodied shrug from the young boy; “I win at this game all the time, and winning all the time is boring. It’s not fun anymore. I thought ‘cause you were the World’s Greatest Detective you’d be better than me.”

So _that’s_ how Matt planned on getting out. L had tried much the same thing when he was younger, when the mantle of his own name was suffocating him and he wanted to just _run_. L sincerely hoped Matt had better luck than he did. 

“Well, this _is_ my first time playing this game,” L remarked, “Do we have any games _you_ haven’t played? That way we’ll be even.” 

Matt screwed his mouth up into a frown as he thought; “Hmmm… There’s a game down there called Super Smash Bros I’ve never seen before. Stay here, I’ll go get it.”

Matt went scrambling out the door and L was very glad the boy’s feet were bare because if he was wearing socks on Roger’s meticulously maintained wood floors he’d be slipping right onto his face. Matt came back in a few minutes with the cartridge in one hand and Mello’s wrist in the other.

“Mihael’s played this game before, he says you can have three players in it,” Matt all but chirped as he threw Mello into L’s lap and raced to replace Mario Kart with Smash Bros. 

Mello skittered out of L’s lap and sat down on his other side; “The game’s okay, I guess. I’ll just watch you guys.”

“You sure? It’d be more challenging for all of us if there were three players,” L remarked, smiling down at Mello.

“Nah, I’m fine,” Mello replied, leaning against the side of L’s bed, “I’d beat you both anyway.”

Matt and L learned the game together, ending up perfectly tied in all six games they played before Mello insisted they were playing wrong and they ended up playing three-player. Matt and Mello trash-talked each other across L and he was content to just watch them and stay out of their way in the game– at least until one of the boys would kill him out of nowhere. Then he’d be all business.

_The one thing L would never, ever know, was that Wammy was watching the three of them from down the hall. Wammy always fought between two parts of his nature when it came to L– the part that loved him as a son, and the part that loved him as his greatest invention. Today was no different; Watari, L’s deferent and humble father figure, couldn’t be happier he was bonding with the children. Wammy, the creator of the Image and Icon of L, could only think of the risk in L growing so close to his replacements._

_He’d already endured a year of silence from L. He wasn’t going to do so again. So he just turned and went down the hall, deferring to L’s judgement._


End file.
